Unwilling Love
by Her-mee-own
Summary: Hermione and Draco realise, much to their disgust, that they are in love.But there are more obstacles to come... Draco may end up having to chose between her and his family and master. This is my first fanfic, so give it a try! R&R!
1. It begins

**Disclaimer- Yeah, actually I do own Harry Potter, I have him tied up under my bed. Only joking, he belongs to JKR.**

**PROLOUGE**

"Mudblood!" Draco shrieked at Hermione as he passed her, Harry and Ron in the corridor. He didn't have any particular reason for doing so, he just blurted it out.

"Better my parents being dentists than death eaters" she hissed back.

Draco suddenly felt a wave of anxiety. He constantly worried about his father. What if he got hurt? What if-? He shuddered. Draco didn't want to think of the word _killed. _

He covered up he wound that Hermione's words had left by retorting, "I would have thought they'd have fixed up those buck teeth of yours by now".

Draco was used to concealing wounds.

Harry let a low whistle, while Ron's face steadily reddened. He was about to say something when Hermione placed her hand on his chest to stop him.

"Look", she said to Draco in an undertone, as everyone in the corridor seemed to be watching them "I don't want to start a fight."

He nodded and walked away.

**Hermione**

"I need to use the bathroom", I mumbled to Harry and Ron before rushing into Myrtle's bathroom, the closest one I could find.

I locked myself into a cubicle and tried to blink away the tears, but soon gave in, knowing that Myrtle's consistent wailing would drown out my comparative whimpers anyway. Why did I care what Malfoy thought anyway? He was just a stupid arrogant Slytherin... but being so logical, I couldn't help but put myself in his shoes. I didn't think I would act quite the same if I was in his position but who knew? I had never experienced those circumstances. It was like condemning cannibals on a full stomach.

Draco had been fed all this _pureblood _rubbish for his whole life. Of course he was going to believe it; I had never doubted a thing my parents had told me. I could see the pain in his eyes every time Harry, Ron or I insulted his family, it had been the reason I didn't want to fight with him. I could understand completely. Horrible as his parents were, he loved them and when you're a death eater there is certainly no guarantee of survival. I could only imagine how worried he must be. A child's love for their parents is unconditional- Draco would always love his no matter how many people they killed.

I realised what I was doing. _Feeling sorry_ for Draco Malfoy- but I couldn't help it, I was almost glad for it. Seeing the good in him, seeing the reasons for his actions dissolved the spite and hatred, and eventually even the pain of his insults. If only he could see past his prejudices...

I didn't know why, but I wanted to ease the burden of the carefully hidden sorrow inside him. Why did I care? This was Malfoy- the closest thing to an enemy I've ever had, the boy that insulted me constantly. I cared because, despite myself, I loved him.

I felt sick at the thought. It was the first time I ever admitted it to myself. A – to borrow his own phrase- mudblood in love with a Malfoy? It was stupid and absurd of me. Even if I had been pureblood I was still rather plain with my wild, untameable hair, and unremarkable features. I _could, _with quite a bit of effort look good but what was the point? I simply wasn't the kind of girl who spent ages vainly improving her looks for a boy who wouldn't want her anyway.

On that rather depressing note a large chocolate colored owl swooped down and perched on my elbow, holding its left leg out. I took the ripped, tatty piece of parchment and read the message that had been written on the back of someone's history of magic homework in a rushed untidy scrawl.

_Granger,_

_I want to know why you didn't fight with me earlier._

_Meet me by the quidditch pitch at 6._

_Malfoy_

**Draco **

"Could you please go away for a minute?" I asked Crabbe and Goyle, who backed off immediately, in a weak voice. I think my unusual politeness scared them.

I needed to think, away from their ignorant slurs about Granger. Although I insulted her far more than they did, recently I had been having new and unwelcome thoughts about her, going against everything I had previously believed in.

There was no doubt that she had disproved some of father's theories on mudbloods or was at least some strange exception to the rule. If they were inferior, how was she so intelligent? There was no denying that Granger was the best witch in the year.

Father had also said that muggles, and therefore their magical offspring were simple beings, but this girl was far from simple. She constantly puzzled me, like when she didn't want to fight with me. It was almost like she knew how much her comments hurt me.

Another baffling thing about Granger was how a smart girl could be stupid enough to be friends with a twerp like Ron Weasely. The Weasleys were a family of blood traitors with more children than Galleons. My father had told me about the so-called "man" of the house, a muggle loving idiot who worked at the ministry with father, however, at a much less important position. _Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office – _honestly, who cared if a few muggles got their noses bitten off by teacups?

Her other best friend was Harry Potter, even worse than Weasely! I remembered back to first year. Potter, loved by all, just because he got rid of Voldemort as a child, obviously not doing a very thorough job as Voldemort had returned at the end of our fourth year. In a way – and I would never admit this to anyone – I wished that Potter had defeated Voldemort completely, then my father would not be out risking his life for his master, and I would not have had ongoing nightmares about my parents' deaths.

Almost every night my sleep was interrupted by these visions and I woke up drenched in cold sweat, gasping for air. Crabbe and Goyle, being the gormless idiots they were, believed the lie I had fed them, that I was dreaming of drowning.

I spontaneously and almost silently laughed to myself. Potter was no longer loved by everyone, but now hated by all, due to his "claims" of the Dark Lord's return. How ironic. It was the people's fear that made them deny the truth, which our side was extremely grateful for.

But not grateful enough that we wouldn't kill them if they got in our way.

But, by far the most confusing thing about this girl was my feelings about her. I wasn't sure _how _I felt about her. It was an emotion I had never before experienced. It certainly wasn't hatred, but I didn't exactly _like _her either. I didn't like this feeling, and didn't want to think about what would happen if anyone heard that I felt anything but contempt for a mudblood.

I felt a sudden urge to talk to her – I wasn't sure what I even wanted to say, perhaps ask her why she didn't come back with a snide comment earlier, but I really felt I needed to talk with her.

I dashed up to the Owlery and scribbled the message on the back of some first year's History of Magic homework, asking her to meet me by the Quiddich pitches at 6.

**Please Review!! Even if you think it's terrible! Even if you don't care about it you coud say "I don't care about your story, and I could try and make it more interesting!" **


	2. They Meet

**DISCLAIMER- I don't own Harry Potter, if I did I wouldn't be writing this.**

**I found it hard to figure out whose POV to do this from, eventually deciding on Draco, but I couldn't resist putting in a bit of Hermione at the start!**

**Hermione**

I glanced nervously at the clock. It was 5.45. My brain whirred, deliberating whether or not to go and meet Malfoy. Could it be some kind of sick scheme? I didn't think so, for he had asked me to meet him in a very open public area, at a time when the Quidditch pitches would be surrounded by students. But then again...

Ten minutes to six. If I was going to go I would have to decide now. Irrationally, I decided to flip a coin. _This is so not like me, _I thought, _I don't use _coins _to make decisions like this. _

I pulled a sickle out of my pocket and flipped it, feeling stupid.

_Heads I go, tails I stay._

I carefully moved my hand to reveal tails facing up. I gave a sigh of relief and sat down on the huge four poster bed. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed deafening. Five minutes to six. Four minutes to six. I thought of Malfoy, waiting for no-one. It would be rude not to at least show up. I could defend myself if it was a trick. I had punched him before and could easily do it again, not to mention the number of defensive spells I knew. I shoved my wand in my pocket and hurried towards the pitches.

**Draco**

I glanced at my watch. It was quite an attractive watch, a family heirloom with a black leather strap and a solid gold rim around the face which was covered by crystal rather than glass.

Six O'Clock. Would she come? What would I even say to her if she did?

Before I could come up with a solution, she suddenly appeared before me.

"Well," she said awkwardly, seeming a little out of breath, as if she had rushed, "Here I am".

"Yeah, you came," I replied, sounding even more ill at ease, "Do you mind going somewhere a little... quieter to talk?"

She looked at me warily and, after deliberation, nodded.

I walked to a small area of grass that was covered in flowers and concealed by a cluster of evergreen trees. She followed in silence and copied my actions when I sat down cross-legged.

She looked at me with unease, twisting a branch in her hand, while I tried to think of something semi-appropriate to say. It felt so weird, sitting here alone with a mudblood and not hating her guts.

"Why didn't you fight with me earlier?" I finally blurted out.

"Er- well I-" Hermione stuttered, blushing, "I'd really rather not say, it could abruptly end this bizarre politeness of yours."

I had to smile at the last part. Even I was confused by my emotions; I didn't quite know how to act. I was usually so sure of myself.

"Just spit it out, "I encouraged, trying to make my eyes look warm but not knowing how. They had been icy for far too long.

My attempts must have had some effect, as she slowly whispered, "When I insult you – well your family in particular - it seems to . . . to _hurt _you".

I felt a ripple of shock. Not just at the fact that she was right, but also at my own reaction. A mudblood _understood _me? Why wasn't I laughing and making snide comments about her appearance?

"And why do you think it h- I mean it does that do me?" I replied, not wanting to admit my own weakness out loud.

She studied my face carefully before saying, "I think you're worried about them. Because of – of everything that's going on."

She was spot on. Smarter than I gave her credit for. After a long moment she cautiously asked, "Am I right?"

I nodded. In normal circumstances I would have replied "No, you're wrong, how does that feel? You filthy know-it-all of a mudblood," but sitting in this hidden place with Hermione Granger, finding myself to be incapable of disliking her, the circumstances were hardly _normal. _

Then I found myself pouring out my soul, telling her all the things I had kept bottled up since the return of the Dark Lord- my fear that my father would be put in Azkaban or worse, my fear that he would be killed, my frustration in having no choice in my future – I was destined to be a death eater.

I didn't mention the part about not really minding having to be a death eater; frankly, I didn't see why wizards had to stay in hiding from their inferiors. Still, it would be good to be able to choose what I did with my life.

Still, she listened attentively, almost like she actually cared what I had to say. I felt strange, talking to _Hermione Granger _about the things I could tell no-one else.

When it started to get dark I suggested heading back up to the castle, which we did, going in opposite directions. She was a few yards away from me when I called to her.

"Granger?"

"Yeah?" she called back, seeming a lot more comfortable talking to me than before.

"Tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"Okay," she replied, giving me a small smile.

**Hope you enjoyed that, tell me what you think!**

**Did I overuse the word mudblood? I couldn't think of any substitutes!**

**And let me know if I stayed true to the characters! I hate it when the characters are all changed.**


	3. Veritaserum

**Please Review! Please? I'll love you forever!**

Hermione clamoured into the common room. _This is surreal, _she thought,_ that's the longest Malfoy ever went without insulting me._

She walked over to Harry and Ron, who were wearing concerned looks.

"What's wrong?" she asked them in a worried voice.

"You were just talking to Malfoy", said Ron, sounding quite possessive, "_Without us_".

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

"For goodness sake Ron," she exclaimed angrily, "The three of us don't need to be constantly joined at the hip".

"But Hermione, this is Malfoy we're talking about. _Malfoy. _His dad is a Death Eater. You're a muggle-born" said Harry warily.

"I know. Stop being so patronising!" she half-shouted, before storming up to her dormitory.

Ron and Harry exchanged confused looks.

**Hermione**

_The guilt welled up in me before escaping from my eyes in the form of tears. I sobbed, knowing Harry and Ron had every right to be concerned. How would I feel if one of them started talking to Pansy Parkinson? _

_Even I was concerned. What was I _doing_, taking to Draco Malfoy? How did I know he wasn't up to something?_

_I did know. I was oblivious to how I knew, but Harry and Ron were unlikely to trust my instincts_.

*

After waiting until Seamus, Dean and Neville was asleep Harry and Ron sat up whispering.

"Malfoy's up to something. Since when does associate himself with muggle-borns?" hissed Ron bitterly.

"I know, we have to think of a way to catch him out. We can't let Hermione get hurt."

Ron thought for a while before whispering "We could use Veritaserum."

"How are we going to get that? We can't afford to risk Snape catching us."

"Maybe . . . maybe Dobby would do it. He would do anything to give you a hand."

Within seconds they were heading down to the kitchens. They arrived to discover Dobby happily making tea. Dobby was a small bat-eared creature called a house elf, and he was wearing an odd array of garments. On one foot he wore a luminous green sock, and on the other a vibrant orange one which clashed horribly with the furry red hat on his head.

"Mr Harry Potter!" he squeaked enthusiastically, "Sir has come to visit Dobby! What does Sir require?"

"Dobby, d'you reckon you could steal Veritaserum from Snape's stores without getting caught?"

"Of course, Dobby is knowing how from the last time he was stealing Gillyweed. Would Sir and Mr Wheezy like to help yourselves to some cakes while he is going?" Dobby asked, indicating a large tray of cakes and pastries.

"No problem, mate" replied Ron, eyeing the tray hungrily.

Within a quarter of an hour, the amount of cakes on the tray had considerably decreased and Dobby had returned with the potion.

"Thanks Dobby, we better head off to bed"

"Thanks for the cakes Dobby!" said Ron, who had two in each hand.

"No problem Sirs, no trouble at all!"

*

Waiting until Malfoy's back was turned; Harry slipped a few drops of potion into his breakfast pumpkin juice. He and Ron cornered Malfoy as he was coming out of the Great Hall and shoved him into a broom cupboard.

"What are you doing?" he said irritably, glaring at them. He tried to call them idiots, but something was stopping him.

"We have some questions for you," stated Ron, who was glaring straight back.

"Why were you talking to Hermione?"

Draco tried to stop the words escaping but they came flowing unstoppably from his mouth, "She understands me".

Ron and Harry exchanged quite confused looks.

"Why are you doing this?" demanded Harry "Are you going to hurt her?"

"I would never - ,"replied Malfoy in a strangled voice.

"Right. OK. We'll be going now," said Ron, exiting the broom cupboard with Harry and leaving Malfoy sitting there feeling very confused.

"That was _really _weird," said Harry.

"She _understands _him?" questioned Ron with a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Well, I suppose there isn't anything we can do to-"

Harry was interrupted by the stern voice of professor McGonagall.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, You are both in detention tomorrow night"

"_Why?_" they complained in unison.

"Mr Malfoy has just told me you tricked him into drinking Veritaserum."

They both decided not to invite further discussion.


End file.
